


Negotiation

by neveralarch



Category: Doctor Who: Scream of the Shalka
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-29
Updated: 2010-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor, the Master, Alison, and a miserable muddy war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negotiation

**Author's Note:**

> Beta thanks to evilawyer and zero_ac

Alison didn't like that phone, didn't like it at all. In the first place, she had had to hide behind a beam while the Doctor was answering it. The Master had stood in front of the beam, completely blocking Alison’s view of the beam and somehow looking more robotic than usual. Apparently, whoever was on the other end wasn't supposed to know she was there, and could see even through an audio connection. The caller apparently also had the power to order the Doctor around. Which was worrying to Alison, especially when neither of her companions was willing to explain what was going on. The Doctor just grumbled, and the Master looked condescending. Both of those reactions were pretty common whenever Alison asked for any information, actually.

From what she could find out for herself, the person or thing on the phone had sent the Doctor on a mission. In the middle of a big muddy field on a small muddy planet. Alison was not happy.

The Doctor didn't seem very happy, either.

They had been sent to negotiate an end to some kind of rebellion, which was probably good, but the Doctor had just grumbled his way through a meeting with the rebel leader, and now seemed set to grumble his way through a meeting with the government's army. Alison was cold and covered with mud, and the aliens, who were short, covered in warm-looking fur, and wearing much better boots than she was, were also completely lacking in sympathy.

Hopefully the government would agree to the peace terms and they could be back inside the cleaner, if not much warmer, TARDIS soon enough. Alison would ask why they always kept the place so cold if she thought she'd get a straight answer, but she hadn't much hope on that front. Instead she just trudged along next to the Doctor, trying to remember if she still had a dry sweater she could put on when they were finished.

They finally reached the gates to the government's field HQ, and were greeted by a group of soldiers and a slightly taller than average alien with a half-coat on.

"That's the general," muttered the Doctor. "Come to see us in person."

"We've been expecting you, Doctor!" said the general, in a high, chirping voice. "Our, aha, allies in the rebel camp told us of your arrival. A great honor, the Time Lords concerning themselves with the suppression of this petty little uprising."

"You think so?" said the Doctor.

"Perhaps you'll come to my office?" said the general, without changing expression.

"Of course," said the Doctor.

They were escorted to the general's rooms, but given seats outside, since the interior was a little small for them. Alison grimaced. At least the rebels had had tall tents for them to talk in.

The Doctor laid out the terms of the peace agreement, and Alison hoped that the aliens couldn't tell how annoyed her companion sounded by all of this. The Time Lords, as the general had called them, should've sent someone who could at least pretend to be diplomatic.

Finally the Doctor was done, and both he and Alison looked expectantly at the general.

"No. We refuse to accept anything except unconditional surrender."

"General," said the Doctor sharply, and Alison was surprised out how quickly he moved from bored and annoyed to vehement coldness, "that is unacceptable. By continuing to fight, you're condemning thousands from both sides to needless deaths. Why not give, just a little? What could you lose that's comparable to all those lives?"

"I'm sorry, Doctor," said the general, fur bristling. "I'm unable to comply with your suggestion. Our enemies would jump on any sign of weakness in an instant."

"Mercy is not a weakness," said the Doctor dryly, suddenly back to bored again. "But we cannot prevail on you?"

"No."

"Then perhaps we will tour the fields before we go."

"Of course, Doctor. You are our honored guest." The general beckoned to one of the soldiers. "Lieutenant Havsham will escort you. Lieutenant, don't go any further than our own lines."

"Sir," said the soldier, and Alison and the Doctor were hurried back to the gates, the general not even getting up to see them off.

"We shan't need a tour-guide," said the Doctor to Havsham.

"The general said to escort you, sir."

"Don't you have something more important to do?" asked Alison, heading the Doctor off before he started in on insults. She could tell from the way his lips twisted that he was about to do just that. "You're not supposed to go past your lines anyway, and we're headed far out into the field." Back to the TARDIS, probably. Hopefully.

Havsham looked at her briefly, and then bobbed his head. Her head? And what did the gesture mean anyway? Aliens were very...alien. Apparently bobbing meant assent, because Havsham was turning away, back toward the camp.

"Good riddance," said the Doctor. "This was a complete waste of time."

Alison grimaced. The Doctor had been swinging between apathy and anger ever since the phone call. One moment he seemed like this whole planet didn't matter a bit, the next as if the whole affair was a personal affront. His mood swings were ruining Alison’s own excitement about seeing a new world, turning it into another chore. She didn’t like that.

But the Doctor was already turning away, striding quickly out of the complex in that odd way that didn't look like he was in any hurry until you realized he was almost out of view and had to run to catch up.

Alison stepped quickly, heading off that eventuality. She didn't want to lose him out here, not with all these aliens running around with their tiny but deadly guns. Keeping in step with the Doctor, she looked up at his face, noting the tight jaw and creased brow. Angry again. Was he upset about the general's refusal, or just the war itself?

"Promise me you'll never become a soldier, Alison." The Doctor said it abruptly, and Alison stared at him, trying to figure out what was going on.

"Not really my thing," she said, after a few moments.

"Good. Don't let it become your 'thing'." The Doctor stepped carefully around a trench as they entered the battlefield, nodding at the tired aliens huddled within. "I take people, and show them the stars, show them how wonderful life is. And then they come home, and go back to cheerfully trying to figure out how to bring more death. The Master's even worse, fighting for something even he can't define. Don't be a soldier, Alison, in any sense of the word."

"Aren't some things worth fighting for, though?" asked Alison. Even if she didn't want to be a soldier, some bit of her took umbrage at the Doctor's flat dismissal of warfare. "You fought against the Shalka to save Lannet, and that was definitely worthwhile. Even if I am a bit biased."

"That's completely different," huffed the Doctor. "Individuals coming together to help each other, that's the purest form of charity. Unfortunate that it sometimes has to involve fighting against other individuals, but there you are." He was walking backwards now, which slowed him down, even if it did make Alison worry about him tripping over something terrible. They were on a battlefield, after all, even if they were still just behind the lines. It also meant that the Doctor could probably see that she wasn't entirely convinced by his argument. He sighed and turned around.

"Anyway," he continued, "I lost the taste for the military bodies ago. I've had enough of them to last all my lifetimes." That was not only complete nonsense, but also had nowhere near anything to do with the argument. Alison opened her mouth to tell the Doctor so, but he held up a hand, forestalling her.

"We're beyond the lines and onto the field."

Alison began to see bodies in the scorched mud, made tiny and sad by death. The corpses were a constant reminder of what was at stake, their compatriots apparently not able to retrieve them from their falling-places. Their disagreement forgotten, the pair strolled in silence through the battlefield.

The noise of the slow battle became louder, shots fired and shells falling. Alison tried not to worry about their own safety too much. The Doctor would have done something if they were in any danger. They were instantly recognizable on the field, with their tall, hairless bodies, and no one seemed inclined to fire on them. But the shells came down regardless, striking wherever they would. Alison could hear them in the distance, getting closer, moving away, almost next to them now. And they weren't in a trench or anything, not even afforded that scant protection. Alison turned to say something about it to the Doctor and heard the blast of a shell almost on top of them, saw the Doctor fall, hit by shrapnel.

Time seemed to slow, as Alison finished turning and took the bare steps to the Doctor's fallen form. He was bleeding through a gaping wound in his side, and he seemed to be losing consciousness.

They were within four minutes' walk of the TARDIS. Did she remember where it was? What were the stages of shock? What if the Doctor died? What if-

Alison stopped herself, bearing down on her panic. They were within four minutes' walk of the TARDIS. That bit was important. And the Doctor wasn't very heavy. Alison picked him up carefully, trying to ignore his little gasps of pain. She slung him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and started to move.

The doors to the TARDIS opened as soon as she got near, and the Master hurried up to meet her, his eyes frantic.

"What happened? Who did this?"

"He got hit on the battlefield," said Alison, setting the now completely unconscious Doctor down carefully on a couch. He had really liked that couch. Hopefully he wouldn't bleed on it too much.

"What do we do now?" said Alison, but she could see that the Master wasn't listening to her. It was the angriest she'd ever seen him, even more so than when the Doctor had overruled him on some point of TARDIS maintenance. She hadn't really thought that he cared about the Doctor that much. Admittedly she didn’t quite understand their relationship yet, but the Master always seemed irritated with the Doctor, amused with him at best; he openly resented being stuck in the TARDIS.

"Listen to me," said Alison, even more frustrated than usual with her companions' tendencies toward complicated and hidden feelings. "How can we help him?"

“Get him to the infirmary,” said the Master, not looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the open doors and the muddy world beyond. “You carried him this far, you can carry him down the corridor.”

“Which corridor? I don’t know where the infirmary is,” said Alison impatiently. “And I wouldn’t know what to do when I got there. You’ve got to help-” The Master turned, but he still wasn’t looking at her. Alison fell silent as she saw him take in the Doctor’s torn and bloodied state.

"Whoever did this will pay," said the Master. He turned back to the doors, hands clenching and unclenching as he headed out of the TARDIS.

Alison shouted at him, trying to get him to come back, but the Master just kept going, his every movement radiating rage. He made it just out the door before reeling backwards and falling to the floor, unmoving.

Alison left the Doctor on the floor, reluctantly, and stepped up to the Master. His eyes were blank, and Alison shook him before realizing that something must have shut him off. She needed him on again, working, alive. She needed him to tell her what to do, how to stop the Doctor from dying. Alison hesitated before reaching toward the Master's face, trying to figure out how to restart him. Just as her hand brushed skin, the Master's eyes lit up again, and Alison jerked back.

"What happened?" said the Master. His voice sounded strange, not controlled as much as it normally was, but also completely devoid of the furious anger which had gripped him only moments ago.

"You freaked out and tried to leave the TARDIS," said Alison, succinctly. "And I need you to calm down and help me take care of the Doctor, because otherwise he might die."

The Master's face flickered through a series of emotions that went altogether too fast for Alison to follow. But he said "of course," and got up, and that was what was important.

The Master helped Alison pick the Doctor up, and together they carried him down one of the halls and into a white, clean room, with a couple machines and a bed. The Master then moved the machines around while Alison arranged the Doctor on the bed. Everything suddenly seemed much calmer, much more manageable. Hopefully they were past the worst, on both the Doctor’s and the Master’s accounts.

Once the machines were whirring over the Doctor, his bleeding stopped somehow by bars of blue light, the Master sat down next to Alison on the bench near the bed.

"Are you alright?" asked Alison.

"I'm not the one missing half his chest, Miss Cheney," said the Master, which probably meant no, he was not alright. Alison decided to leave him alone.

They sat in silence for an hour, watching the light slowly heal the Doctor's wound. Finally the Doctor murmured, awake, and they both jumped up.

"Lie still, Doctor," said Alison. "You're not healed completely yet."

"What were you thinking?" said the Master, and when Alison glanced at him she saw fury rising in his expression again, all the sharper for being more controlled this time.

"Not much, I'm afraid," said the Doctor, with a croak that might have been a laugh. "Did I get hit?"

"Yes, you idiot, you did, and you have Miss Cheney to thank that you aren't dead. If you'd been alone, since you won't let me off this ship-"

"Well, I wasn't alone, and I'm not dead," said the Doctor, sitting up as his voice gained strength. "So I'll thank you to let me off this bed so I can finish this errand as quickly as possible."

Alison had something to say about that, but the Master spoke faster, his tone cold.

"You're not going anywhere. I tell you, you could have died!"

"Possibly. Anyway, I would have regenerated," said the Doctor calmly.

"You're getting careless with your bodies," hissed the Master.

"At least I'm still inhabiting my own!" the Doctor snapped.

Alison didn't understand what they were arguing about anymore, but the way they were fighting made her nervous. It was as if they’d forgotten she was there, their attention completely focused on the other and how wrong he was. The Master was leaning forward so much that his nose was only a couple inches away from the Doctor's, not changing the cold calmness of his tone as the Doctor shouted in his face. Alison expected that sort of personal space invasion from the Doctor, as he’d always shown about as much consideration for individual boundaries as he showed for actual barriers. She'd caught him trying to keep things in her coat pockets before. But the Master always maintained distance, keeping all contact strictly under his control. Of course, he hadn't seemed to be keeping even himself under control today. Alison began to wonder whether she should step in or let her companions yell themselves hoarse.

They never argued like this. It was always snide comments and cold voices, not full-blown screaming match.

"I don't think I need to remind you what happened to my last body," said the Master, hands clenched.

"Well, perhaps I won't remind you who built you the one you're wearing now, then," said the Doctor. His face was red, and Alison had a feeling the Master's would be too, if he had circulation.

"I'm not wasting my time building you a robot when you die, rest assured," snarled the Master. "So take better care of yourself until then."

"Fine!" said the Doctor, throwing up his hands, only wincing a little as imperfectly-healed skin stretched over his ribs. "I'll just rest for a bit." He threw himself back down on the bed, closing his eyes.

"Good," said the Master. He looked like he was starting to calm down, mollified by the Doctor's capitulation. Alison began to think that they might get through this with no more injuries.

"I'll doze for an hour, and then Alison and I will go sort this blasted war out."

" _No_ , you _won’t_ ," said the Master, and they were off again. This time the Doctor just lay on the bed, calmly restating his position, while the Master grew more incandescent with rage. Alison decided she should probably do something, but she couldn't think how to act, or when.

Finally, the Master actually grabbed the Doctor’s shoulders, pulling him up and then seizing his chin.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” hissed the Master. “Look at me and then _do what I say_.”

“Don’t you take that tone with me,” said the Doctor, knocking away the Master’s hand. “I’ve made my decision.”

The Master made a noise in between a growl and a whine of frustration, and Alison took the opportunity to step in.

“Look, this has been a hard day for all of us,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “Why don’t we just calm down and –“ she laid her hand on the Master’s shoulder, and he stiffened and then moved, suddenly, gripping her fingers within his strong ones, and Alison wasn’t sure what was happening, and then the Master fell down, unconscious, off, again. Alison stood still, breathing hard for a moment, and then looked at the Doctor, who had sat up.

"What happened to him this time?" she said.

"This time? Has he been off recently?"

"When I brought you in, he tried to go out of the TARDIS."

"Foolish," said the Doctor. "He should know better."

"I don't think he was thinking about himself at the time," said Alison, "or this time either."

"No, I suppose not," said the Doctor, with a little smile, and slid carefully off the bed. "I programmed failsafes in his brain, Alison. I didn't touch his mind or motivations, but I couldn't have him running rampant. So- automatic shutoff when he tries to leave, and when he tries to harm anybody not expressly identified as an enemy by myself." He leaned down and touched the Master's face, smoothing an eyebrow with his thumb.

"Really," said Alison. That was something to think about. The Doctor had also just given up information freely, and that was something to think about too. “But he wasn’t going to do anything,” she said, almost trying to convince herself. “He just doesn’t like it when other people touch him like that, I should’ve remembered.”

“Well, it’s hard to tell with him. He could’ve been brushing you off or aiming to break your hand. The failsafe wouldn’t have triggered unless he was at least thinking of doing something wrong.” The Doctor frowned. “I should probably check the filters again, though, make sure I didn’t flag something innocent by accident.”

“You’ve reprogrammed bits of his brain and you’re not even sure if you did it correctly?” Alison crossed her arms, and then uncrossed them, feeling foolish, as the Doctor continued to stare at the Master.

“Mhm,” said the Doctor, his brow creased in thought. "It’s a work in progress. Always is, with him.” He stood up, distancing himself from the Master. “Need to get out of this argument," he muttered to himself.

Alison was gearing up to ask what, exactly, was going on between her two companions, in the hopes that whatever had prompted the Doctor to be a little more forthright would continue to affect him. As she began to mentally frame the question, the Master restarted.

"Doctor- what?"

"You shouldn't force two shutdowns so close together," said the Doctor. "I think you're fine, but you might have damaged your processors."

"Everything seems in order," said the Master, with a frown.

"Good," said the Doctor, leaning down and pulling him to his feet. "Now, pay attention. I know you're worried about me, and I promise I won't do anything idiotic, alright?"

"You're always doing _something_ idiotic," started the Master, but the Doctor interrupted him by pressing his thumb to the Master's lips.

The Master glanced immediately at Alison, and the Doctor sighed.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Alison, cover your eyes."

She did, but because she didn't actually trust either of them, especially not after all this, she left a crack just big enough to see through. Through the frame of her fingers, Alison watched as the Doctor took the Master's face in his hands and kissed him until the Master stopped struggling and leaned into him, fists balled in the Doctor's torn coat.

'Oh.' thought Alison. 'So that's it.'

That didn't exactly answer all her questions, but it seemed like a part of most of the possible answers. Alison started fitting the new piece into the big puzzle she called her companions, noting where edges fit and where they didn't quite match up. Now that she wasn't worried about the Doctor dying, she was back to being frustrated about being kept in the dark all the time.

"You can open your eyes now," said the Doctor. "Master, can you go set up a monitor that I can connect to an outside feed?"

The Master walked out silently, straightening his jacket.

"Alison, can you come with me to the wardrobe? I don't have time to heal anymore."

Alison decided arguing with the Doctor about bed rest at this point was probably useless, so she just followed him down the twisting hallways of the TARDIS. Admittedly, she was also now immensely curious about what was going on between the Doctor and the Master. She could use this opportunity to talk to the Doctor, to get things straight before she came up with too many misconceptions.

"You'll have to help me change, I'm afraid," said the Doctor, once they were standing before the racks of clothing. "I'd ask the Master, but I don't think we want him going into a homicidal rage again, do you?"

"What happened to all that modesty?" teased Alison, slowly peeling off his shirt. They hadn't tried to take it off while the Doctor had been lying under the machines, and now the Doctor winced as raw pink skin was separated from the shreds of cloth and the dried blood.

"All purely for his benefit, I assure you."

"Is that why you two never told me what was going on? Modesty?" The shirt was off, and Alison looked at the new skin where a hole had been only a short time before, and then couldn’t tear her eyes away. She felt sick and relieved all at once, and her stomach twisted, making her feel unmoored. The Doctor had gone down so fast, and now they were talking, just as if nothing had happened-

"It's complicated, Alison," said the Doctor, grounding her. She looked up at him, hoping her face didn't show anything. "The Master and I have known each other for a long time." The Doctor started to remove his belt, and nodded at a cupboard off to the side of the room. "Can you get me one of the shirts from the second drawer?"

"Seems pretty uncomplicated to me," said Alison, opening the drawer and taking out a white shirt that looked more or less identical to the one the Doctor always wore. "Well, except for the failsafes and the mysterious callers and the fact that you’re both weird aliens in a police box. What's so difficult to understand about wanting to kill the people who hurt the one you love? Or being angry with that person when they aren't taking care of themselves?" She helped the Doctor get his arms through the sleeves, then went to find him a new pair of trousers as he buttoned the shirt one-handed.

"It's difficult, Alison- third drawer, please- when it's the same person who's tried to kill you innumerable times and who actually has killed you once. Things like that." The Doctor smiled slightly as Alison turned to look at him.

"Are you a ghost or something, then?" She wasn't going to be frustrated with the way the Doctor hoarded knowledge about himself. She wasn't even going to think about it anymore. He probably wasn't actually very interesting at all and had decided to settle for mysterious instead.

"Can I have those?" said the Doctor, pointing at the black slacks Alison was holding in her hands. "And do you mind turning around and letting me lean on your shoulder? Thank you."

"You should talk to him," said Alison while the Doctor changed.

"There's a planet to save, Alison. I don't have time for his histrionics."

"So you did that whole kissing thing just to shut him up, did you?" She didn't glance at him, because he hadn't finished putting his trousers on yet, but hopefully he could tell that she disapproved.

"More or less, I'm afraid. Look, Alison, I'm going to start putting something together for when we go out again. If you're so worried about the Master, why don't you go check on him?" He released her shoulder, and walked off.

"Maybe I will," muttered Alison at the Doctor's retreating back.

She found the Master in a room right off the control room, fiddling with a circuit board. The room was full of electronics, tools, and bits of metal, and the Master looked both more and less mechanical, surrounded by these reminders of his nature.

"Miss Cheney," he said. "Did the Doctor send you to check on me?"

"No," she said, and then thought about it. "Well, maybe. What are you doing?"

"The Doctor asked me to set up a monitor for him." He pointed at a blank screen that jutted out of the wall on a metal arm. "Presumably something to do with his precious little war."

"I almost forgot about that," said Alison with a start. "I mean, I know people are dying, but it all feels so distant."

"Yes," said the Master, his mouth tight. " _Distant_." He fiddled with some wires idly. "I finished the Doctor's project, so now I'm hiding a program in the TARDIS to help me monitor his location when he's off-ship. Then I'll be able to materialize the TARDIS around him if you run into any trouble."

"He'd throw a fit if you told him about that," said Alison, looking over the Master's shoulder. The electronics were labeled in an odd geometrical writing, but the wiring didn't look that different from a lighting box cracked open.

"He has no reason to know."

"Why are you telling me?" said Alison.

"I'll need you to contact me if he gets into anything he can't get out of." The Master glanced at her, then back at his work. "My dear Miss Cheney, I am inviting you to become part of a secret organization. Its purpose shall be the prevention of the Doctor's suicide by violent primitives. I trust I have your support?"

"I suppose," said Alison. "I'll call you if he's dying again."

"Unacceptable," said the Master, finishing the connections. "You are to call me before he gets injured, if at all possible. I simply will not be put through a day like today again."

"He wants to adventure," said Alison. "He won't be able to if I keep calling you every time he does something dangerous."

The Master closed the box up and dusted his hands.

"I care less for the Doctor's feelings than for his safety. Here," he reached in a drawer and produced a tiny earpiece. "Just press this if you have need to call me. It will connect straight to my auditory input sensors and allow me to hear you."

"You can't keep him completely safe," said Alison, but she took it anyway. "You'll drive yourself mad by trying."

"It's merely a matter of trying to keep him alive. If I have to curtail his freedom in order to do so, so be it. If he would only make more sensible choices, I shouldn't have to even think about it."

The Master's mouth was tight again, and Alison looked at him for a long time, slowly fitting the transmitter into her ear.

"Would you lock him up and hide him, if you could, just to keep him safe from himself? That's not love, or whatever you two call what you have."

"I'll thank you not to speculate on my relationship with the Doctor," said the Master, lightly, and picked up the circuit board, carrying it back into the console room. "And in any case, what do you think he's done to me, Miss Cheney? Made me safe, made sure that I turn off if I do anything he would disapprove of."

"That's different," said Alison, watching the Master plug his work into the TARDIS. "The Doctor said that you've done terrible things." It'd been one of the first conversations she'd had with the Doctor after coming aboard the TARDIS, and one of the last to contain any useful information. There's the bathroom, there's the homicidal maniac, don't touch that button, it might give you hives. "He's keeping everyone else safe from you."

"Is that what he told you," murmured the Master.

"Anyway," said Alison, frowning. "You still have free will, you just can't follow through on certain choices."

"As does every being," said the Master, looking away from the TARDIS and straight at her. "We all have choices, but often the ability to act on our decisions has been taken away. I simply propose to do the same for the Doctor, just as you might deprive a man who has tried to commit suicide of his razor."

Alison was saved from having to respond to that by the Doctor walking through the console room, wearing a slightly different coat than the one that had been ripped apart by the shrapnel.

"Did you set up the monitor?"

"Yes, Doctor," said the Master, gritting his teeth. "I am perfectly capable of doing the menial tasks you assign me in short order."

"Excellent," said the Doctor.

Alison resisted the urge to smack their heads together.

The Doctor walked to the side room, gesturing at them to follow. The Master did so immediately, surprising Alison; she had expected him to sulk more. In the room, the Doctor spun dials and knobs, and the monitor flashed with static.

"What are you doing?" said Alison.

"I'm setting it up to send and receive signals from one of the general's radios. We still need to end this war, after all, and my time on the field has given me some leverage."

"You see?" said the Master, quietly. "He nearly dies, and he talks about what an advantage that experience will be."

"Well, it will," said the Doctor, not even looking at the Master.

Alison decided that the Master had just followed to harass the Doctor some more, and she was damned if she was just going to stand there and listen to them fight yet again.

"All right," she said. "We'll call him up, tell him he's responsible for your injury, and demand he stop shelling?"

"Exactly," said the Doctor. "But the general isn't technically male- Ah. General." The alien's face had appeared on the screen. His whiskers were wrinkled back.

"Doctor. I was in the middle of a conversation with a critical agent. You have interrupted our feed."

"Dreadfully sorry," said the Doctor, not looking sorry at all. "I need to talk to you about something that happened while I was touring the fields-"

The general listened impassively to the Doctor's story, as far as Alison could tell. She was as bad at reading alien expressions as she apparently was at guessing their genders. When the Doctor started hinting about the great consequences should the Time Lords' emissary be permanently damaged, however, the general interrupted.

"I offer the deepest condolences for your injury, Doctor. Are you sure it was one of our shells?"

"The rebels don't have that sort of armament," said the Doctor, frowning.

"A crate of various munitions was recently stolen from our depot, Doctor. Perhaps that was where this particular shell came from. Unlikely, I admit, but a possibility?"

The Doctor didn't say anything.

"Well. What would you have us do, Doctor?"

"I demand at least a conference between the government and the rebels. I remain certain that your differences are reconcilable. But if they are not- well, my injury gives me the ability to involve the Time Lords on whichever side I should like."

"Is that a threat, Doctor?"

"Merely an observation. My assistant, Miss Cheney, will await your answer, General." The Doctor cut the feed.

"Assistant?" said Alison.

"Are you willing to assist me, Alison? I'll have to start figuring out a plan for what to do if the government refuses to meet with the rebels."

"I guess."

"Thank you very much. Master, could you help me find the diplomatic corps books? I need to find out if I really can ask for more help..." The Doctor strode out of the side-room, the Master following behind.

Alison sighed, and sat down on a stool near the monitor. Maybe she could get one of the other screens to show solitaire.

It took Alison about an hour to get the screens to show her anything she recognized. There were notes all over the various controls, but they were all in different languages, none of which she understood. Probably the Master's notes, since the writing was small and neat, even if illegible. The Doctor, thought Alison to herself, would probably write in English anyway. He was the most English alien she'd ever met.

Still, by trial and error and with the firm belief that the Master would never be so careless as to leave a self-destruct button out in the open, Alison managed to get the screens into some sort of main menu. She paused to savor her triumph and the screen the Doctor had shown her crackled with static. She made a face and turned toward it as a familiar figure filled the frame.

"Miss Chenkie?"

"It's Cheney," said Alison, firmly, to the general. "How can I help you?"

"My apologies. We would like to know if the Doctor can help us end this war quickly. In the most...merciful way possible."

Alison raised an eyebrow. That was an unexpected turn.

"How so?"

"We know you have tremendous off-world technology. Surely you have something that would allow us to end the rebellion in an instant, preventing the tremendous loss of life on both sides as we needlessly struggle against each other. This meets your approval?"

Alison narrowed her eyes. What the general was saying and what he obviously meant were two very different things. "You could end this war today, if you spoke with the rebels. They're ready to talk, as we told you."

"Ah," said the general, "but we are not ready to talk. We are ready to win. You can see that helping us will result in a better outcome for everyone than if we are forced to continue alone, yes?"

"Are you giving us an ultimatum?" asked Alison through gritted teeth. "Help you kill or leave you to kill more?"

"If you like," said the general, not an ounce of any recognizable sentiment moderating its tone. Alison was sure now that that was because the alien didn't much care, rather than because she was crap at reading it.

"No. We'll find another way. We told you, the Time Lords will have something to say about this."

"You should speak with the Doctor." The general didn't even look rattled.

"He'll say the same." He would. Alison was sure of it.

"You should speak with him. We'll await his call." The general signed off, leaving Alison to stare at a blank screen.

Alison hurried out of the room, hoping that the TARDIS would guide her to the Doctor. Usually she just had to wait until he turned up, but he needed to know about this new development right away.

The corridor she was currently going down ended in a door. She opened it, and was in the familiar room of the library. The Doctor was nowhere in sight, but his voice floated around the high arches of the ceiling.

"No, I do not think we should just 'blow them up.' You're showing an unfortunate lack of imagination."

"You would rather I came up with a more entertaining way of killing them?" came the Master's voice, low and amused. "My, what a change. I have a lovely plan I never got to use, involving several large rocks and a sea of hot drinks-"

"No, no, no, no, no. Look, go get me some tea or something if you're not going to be helpful."

"I'm trying, Doctor. You do have all those boxes of Nescafe you won't touch that we could use for the sea. You see, we lure them in with the promise of refreshments, and then we..."

Alison started to walk toward the voices, glancing between shelves.

"You're trying to be funny, aren't you," said the Doctor. "You're up to something, and you're trying to distract me by being charming."

"Charming, Doctor? You do know how to flatter me."

"I'm serious, stop it. It's unnerving. You've been mad at me all day."

"Perhaps I've just decided to let it go," said the Master. "One of us has to be capable of acting mature." Alison could see them now, the Doctor hunched over a pile of open books, the Master sitting on the desk, leaning over him. The Master looked up, saw her, and moved to get down to the ground.

"Miss Cheney. How was your monitor experience? Is there news from the front?"

"Monitoring was terrible," she said, momentarily derailed from her message. "I couldn't read any of the instructions you've left on the screen. Oh, and yes, I just spoke with the general," she continued as the Master raised an eyebrow. "Doctor, they're not going to meet with the rebels. The general wants us to use our 'superior technology' to win them the war."

The Doctor looked blankly at her, then stood up, running his hands through his hair. "There's nothing else for it. I'll have to meet with the head of government in person."

"What can you do?" said the Master. "They won't be convinced."

"We've only talked to the military authorities," said the Doctor. "Surely the civilian government will see reason."

"They're fighting against a rebellion," hissed the Master, "there is no real 'civilian' government."

The Doctor ignored him and strode out of the room, picking his coat up off the back of his chair.

"What about the Time Lords?" asked Alison, as she and the Master trailed after the Doctor. "Won't they do anything?"

"No. Turns out that was all bluff. Sending me was their big effort, and now they won't have anything else to do with the situation." The Doctor pulled his arms through his sleeves and settled the coat across his shoulders. "No matter. We'll materialize directly within the presidential palace."

"Don't act so rashly," said the Master. The Doctor stopped and glared at him.

"People are dying right now," he said. "And your pat little jokes about coffee aren't going to save them."

"Fine," said the Master. "Go perform this heroic blunder, if you can't be bothered to come up with a real plan. Call me if you need anything." He glanced at Alison and walked back into the depths of the TARDIS.

The Doctor was already turning away, toward the console room. Alison hurried after him, hoping he knew what he was doing.

The TARDIS shook more than usual with the Doctor piloting. Alison watched as he tried to pull five levers with two hands and wondered if he was out of practice or something. The Master always made it look so effortless. After a few moments, she stopped thinking about it at all and started concentrating on clinging to a support beam.

Finally the shaking stopped and the Doctor strode past her as the TARDIS doors opened. Alison stepped out after him, and then ran into his back as he stopped suddenly.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, trying to look over his shoulder.

"We appear to have been expected," he said. "No, don't-"

Alison stepped around the Doctor, ignoring his protests. No longer blinded by the back of the Doctor's coat, she could see the ring of armed aliens around them.

"Doctor," said one. "I am glad to see your injury was not so great."

"Ah, Havsham, was it? How are you?"

Alison peered closer, and saw it was the Lieutenant who had escorted them from the headquarters earlier.

"I am doing fine," said Havsham. "We have instructions to conduct you to the general."

"Do you," said the Doctor, pulling the TARDIS door shut. The aliens shifted their guns reflexively, but made no other movements. Probably not sure what to do, thought Alison. "Well, then. Let us go."

They were hurried out of the palace and into something that looked more or less like a tiny jeep. The Doctor and Alison were pushed into the back by a guard, who joined them; Havsham sat in front with another soldier driving. Alison felt far too big for her seat as the thing bumped and jostled down the road, and the Doctor looked ridiculous, bent almost in two with his knees around his ears. It was a good thing there wasn't a roof, or they would've never fit.

After about two minutes of a silent ride, Alison got bored. Usually the Doctor would be babbling by now, but he looked like he was sulking. His plan hadn't worked out at all. Still, that didn't mean she couldn't talk.

"How did you know where we were going?" she asked.

"The general sent soldiers to several potential landing sites," said Havsham, not looking back.

"So he just guessed, then."

"Yes," said Havsham, and then did look around, twisting the whole body rather than just the head. "Your pronoun is inappropriate. Your Doctor is a 'he'. We do not have 'hes'."

"Sorry," said Alison.

"Is this really the time for a grammar lesson?" said the Doctor, quietly. Alison ignored him.

"Listen," she said, "you don't have to do this. The general is refusing to negotiate, to accept peace terms that could end the fighting immediately. Have you fought at the front?"

"I have," said Havsham, turning back to stare at the ruts in the dirt road.

"Then you know how many are dying, pointlessly. We could end this all, if only you'd allow us to speak with someone in command."

"The general is in command," said Havsham.

"It's no use, Alison" said the Doctor. "We'll just have to wait until we see the general."

Alison frowned, leaning back into her seat as best she could. At least she might've got Havsham thinking. Maybe that was what thinking looked like on these aliens, a wrinkled snout and bristled fur at the collar.

The jeep stopped abruptly, at a fort Alison didn't recognize. Someplace new. The guard shoved Alison and the Doctor out of the vehicle, and Havsham climbed down from the front seat before the remaining soldier drove the jeep away.

"Follow me," said Havsham.

It wasn't a far walk. The general had been waiting, apparently. Someone must have radioed ahead.

He- no, not 'he', but probably not 'she' either, and Alison didn't want to use 'it' - stood with a contingent of armed soldiers. The general's teeth were showing, an imperfect imitation of a human smile. Or possibly something else altogether.

"Doctor, Miss Cheney," said the general. "Welcome. Have you decided to assist us in the war effort?"

"No." said the Doctor. "That is, we have decided. We've decided not to. Right, Alison?"

"Right."

"I'd ask you to reconsider," said the general, drawing a small gun from underneath the half-coat. Alison wasn't sure why that seemed so threatening, when they were surrounded by dozens of soldiers with much bigger, scarier guns, but it was. Maybe because they wouldn't have the warning of an order to fire before they were shot.

"I won't help you," said the Doctor, testily. "I won't take threats, and you know better than to aim that at Alison. Put down the gun."

"We know of the Time Lords, Doctor. I shall shoot you, wait for you to regenerate, and perhaps your next self will be more amenable to our proposition."

Alison glanced between them. The Doctor didn't look nervous, exactly, more like he was steeling himself. Getting ready to be shot. The general, meanwhile, already looked ready to shoot.

This was out of the Doctor's control. Alison made a choice.

"I don't think- Alison, don't move-" Too late. Alison put her hand to her ear and spoke quickly.

"Master, come pick us up."

The aliens started firing as the TARDIS materialized around them. The contorted face of the general and grip on the pistol as its trigger was squeezed were the last things Alison saw before the walls solidified and shut the fort out.

The Doctor started shouting even before that.

"So that was your plan! Conspire with my companion, undermine me even when you are absent!"

"Doctor," said the Master, moving away from the console, "Miss Cheney and I just saved your life, not to mention hers. Show some gratitude."

"The general was going to kill you, Doctor. You heard him- I mean, you heard what was said." said Alison. The Master nodded, with a 'you see?' look, but the Doctor just ignored the explanation.

"Keeping secrets," he said, "what's next, trying to ruin the Magna Carta again? More killer inflatable chairs?"

"You said you wouldn't mention the first anymore, and the latter very nearly worked." said the Master, bristling. "More to the point, the whole purpose of this 'plot,' as you call it, was to keep you out of harm's way. Since you're obviously not capable of doing it yourself."

"You had no right-"

"I simply-"

They talked over each other, voices rising in a duel to be heard. Shouting again. Alison still hadn't got used to it, and she didn't want to, but she recognized it now. They looked like her and Joe having a real fight, one of the ones that generally ended in blows from both sides.

She hoped it wouldn't come to that. The Master was even in the right this time, and he knew it. She should probably try to back him up again, even if the Doctor did keep ignoring her.

"You're just worried I'll leave you alone," said the Doctor, viciously. "Have to make sure you can track my every move, pick me up if things are going too badly."

"Yes," said the Master, his voice a little high, "Yes, I don't want to be left alone. Yes, I want to make sure you don't get half-killed again, or whole-killed this time. I wonder why that might be? Maybe because _someone_ spent quite a lot of time programming my emotion circuits, and now if I think of you dead I _shut myself off_ because I can't deal with it calmly?"

"Oh, so it's all about convenience to you. If you like, I'll just shut down that bit of programming, then. No need to care about me for you to function, is there?"

"Yes," said the Master. "There is."

Just like that, the argument broke. Alison found herself relaxing a little, even as the Doctor tensed, surprise etched across his face.

"What?" said the Doctor.

"Well, it wouldn't really be me, would it," said the Master, with a humorless smile. "If I wasn't willing to go to simply ridiculous lengths, just because I care about you."

" _Master_ ," said the Doctor, taking a step that brought him face to face with the other man.

The Master, for his part, threw Alison a significant glance, and she got out of the room in a hurry. She was pretty sure the Master would do something nasty to her if she stayed, no matter what she witnessed.

She didn't want to go back to her room though. There was still a war going on, even if her companions had decided their personal life was more important. She didn’t blame them, really. She was pretty fed up with trying to deal with the general anyway.

So Alison sat in the monitor room, trying once again to get the computers to let her play solitaire. She'd got it back to the menu screen and was clicking on a likely icon when one of the monitors flashed.

"Miss Cheney?"

"General, we have no interest-" said Alison, turning to face the screen, and then stopped. "Is that Lieutenant Havsham?"

"Yes, Miss Cheney. I need to speak with you in confidence. Is this channel secure?"

"Yes," said Alison. She couldn't imagine either the Master or the Doctor setting up a connection that could be overheard. "But I have nothing to say to you that hasn't already been said to your general. All we want is a meeting about the treaty, and your army doesn't seem prepared to give it to us."

"Yes," said Havsham, "but not all of us feel the same way as the general. I've been thinking about what you said in the transport, Miss Cheney, and I think I've seen enough of my people die."

"What are you saying?" said Alison. She knew what it sounded like, but that was almost too much to hope for.

"I'm saying that a treaty can be arranged, even if the general does not want it. This is in your interest?"

"Definitely." said Alison. This was sounding like a plan, which was good, since whatever was happening in the console room was probably nothing like strategizing. "Are you saying that there might be a coup? A revolution?"

"Merely a change in leadership," said Havsham. "A change which would take into consideration your suggestions of negotiation. If you can contact the rebels and ask them to cease fire tonight, it will be done immediately. Most of our support is on the front lines, and cannot be recalled until there is a let-up in the fighting."

Alison nodded, thinking quickly and trying to figure out whether there were any problems with the plan.

"How do I know you're not just trying to get the rebels to stop fighting so that you can lead a charge?"

"There will be no movement toward their encampment, only away. You do not have to place any trust in me whatsoever. As soon as anyone nears the rebels without hailing them, they will be well within their rights to shoot."

"Alright," said Alison. "I'll get the ceasefire."

"Good," said Havsham. "I have no more time. I will not expect any signal besides the silence on the front lines."

Alison looked at the dials, then at the mess of the Master's notes that she still couldn't understand. She didn't really want to go bother either of her companions, but -  
There was a post-it note on the side of the console, next to the screen, written in English. The Master's neat handwriting had listed several names, including one she recognized from the rebel camp, along side numbers to be input to specific dials. He must have left them after she had complained about the lack of readable labels. Well, it was good thing someone around here was thinking ahead.

Alison got to work ending a war.

It almost felt too neat, she thought, as she called various rebel leaders and laid out the plan. The Doctor hadn't had to do anything, and she was acting basically as a relay, nothing more. But maybe it was better that the aliens settle this, rather than having it done for them. Aonmus, she remembered, suddenly, in the middle of the conversation with the leader of yet another rebel faction. They were called the Aonmus.

Fifteen minutes later, with the contacts made and a preliminary ceasefire agreed to, Alison went to tell her companions. The Master and the Doctor were still where she had left them, though they were much quieter- she couldn't hear anything until she was right outside the door.

The Doctor was speaking, voice filled with either impatience or eagerness. "Now, Master..."

"Mhm?"

Alison stood for a long time, unsure of whether to interrupt or leave them be.

"Won't Alison be waiting -"

"The girl can take care of herself. _Doctor_ -"

Alison knocked, and then pushed the door open. She wasn't going to let them get in another fight, especially not over her this time.

"Alison!" said the Doctor. He was backed up to a wall, the Master barely a foot away.

"Has something happened? Do we need to go?"

"I'd think very carefully about how you answer that, Miss Cheney," said the Master in a dangerous purr.

"I think it's more or less sorted," said Alison. "We'll find out tomorrow. I just came to tell you that you don't need to make any plans for tonight."

"What do you mean, 'sorted'?" said the Doctor.

"She obviously took some initiative, Doctor. I told you Miss Cheney could take care of herself. Now, perhaps we could return to... what we had been doing, and Miss Cheney can get some well-earned rest." The Master tilted his head at Alison, inviting an answer.

"Right," said Alison. She'd definitely earned it, after today. And perhaps they had, as well.

"Are you sure matters can wait until tomorrow?" said the Doctor, stepping forward in a way that made him seem ready to leave but also brought him, almost incidentally, further into the Master's personal space.

"Yes," said Alison, firmly. "They'll have to." The Master's eyes glittered with approval. Alison backed out of the room as the Master ran a proprietary hand down the front of the Doctor's jacket.

Tomorrow there would, with any luck, be another government ruling the war-torn remains of this planet. Or country. She'd never quite sorted out the expanse of the fighting. Anyway, tomorrow, there'd be a new government, and new negotiations. She'd be rested, and she could take a shower before then, wash off the mud and blood. And hopefully the Doctor and the Master would either have talked to each other or just had sex and gotten it over with. She, Alison decided as she headed down the corridors to her room, was sick of their fighting. Sniping was fine. Snide comments were fine. She could even deal with full-blown sarcasm. But the fighting had not been fun. Having all of that hidden history explode in her face had been worse than not knowing anything that was going on.

Not that she wanted the Doctor to keep hiding things from her. On the other hand, she didn't want to deal with the Doctor and the Master doing...anything really. Not that the Master would allow any public displays. Alison's thoughts were going in circles, and she was still tired and in need of a shower. Maybe they could just keep themselves to themselves.

A loud moan echoed down the corridor. Alison winced, and resolved to just pretend she hadn't heard anything.


End file.
